


Poltergeist

by pseudofaux



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Gen, Ghost Lucio bummed he can't mess up a party, pomegranate... flavored trouble, where there's a petulant will there is a way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25253830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudofaux/pseuds/pseudofaux
Summary: Lucio willssubstanceinto his hand, determination wavering under the hurt of loneliness (for the briefest of seconds), and then he reaches for the soft gold of an apricot at the top of a platter and–His fingers close through it with that odd, phantom squelch, like he is actually dreaming of this instead of attempting it. The frustration of the setback makes him attempt to flip the platter over, but someone from the kitchens is already carrying it away and ignoring his endeavor entirely.FINE.[Written for the Vesuvian Nights zine in July 2019]
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	Poltergeist

**Author's Note:**

> A year later, we know a lot more about Lucio/Montag... I'd have written this differently if I were writing it today, but I worked with what I had from the game at the time! He was one of my favorite characters even before he got a route (feel free to press f for my taste/credibility), and even though this leans on him as a tragicomic target, I swear it was done with love.

This is really too much. Even on _this_ night, they can’t see him? This party is only being thrown because of him!

Lucio, Count of Vesuvia, currently _temporarily_ incorporeal, has tried goulish howling, he has tried blowing out candles in the chandeliers most inconvenient for the servants to relight, and he has tried enlisting the dogs. All on his own, he has tried all this, and still no one has so much as peered curiously in his direction. With all the talk of spooky, the people in the palace can’t see one ghost? One great ghost?!

It is really too much, and he won’t stand for it. He will not think about what he stands on, either. There, he’s floating. That will show them, provided anyone things to look. But because they are all too busy putting the Masquerade together, he must lead them and do something that will truly show them. He decides in a flash of needy malevolence to hurl fruit. He will hurl his favorite fruit, and surely that will remind someone of him! They must be missing him terribly. He expects that they are throwing themselves into their work for the party as a means of coping.

Lucio wills _substance_ into his hand, determination wavering under the hurt of loneliness (for the briefest of seconds), and then he reaches for the soft gold of an apricot at the top of a platter and–

His fingers close through it with that odd, phantom squelch, like he is actually dreaming of this instead of attempting it. The frustration of the setback makes him attempt to flip the platter over, but someone from the kitchens is already carrying it away and ignoring his endeavor entirely.

FINE.

Lucio, Golden Count of Vesuvia, has more than one idea, naturally. If the kitchen staff are determined to press their luck this way, he’ll get housekeeping’s attention instead. And there’s something that has been needing housekeeping’s attention! His room has been left in disgusting shape and it is high time they were shamed for it.

Whooshing through the air back to his rooms nearly has him smiling. He can really drive the point home by draping himself in his old bedding and haunting the palace properly.

Realizing he cannot tear the ruined curtains off his bedposts any more than he can pick up an apricot puts him back in a foul mood. His only consolation is that the fabric is grimy, the soot gone to oily blackness. Disgusting. Who would want to wear those rags, anyway?

He knows if he were a lesser man, he would be pouting at the pathetic condition everyone has left him in. But Lucio, stylish and ever-clever, is already trying to wake up Mercedes and Melchior to get them to make a scene downstairs.

…Someone has set out jeweled dishes of twin feasts for his dogs, and they are now deeply asleep. Their ears do not even twitch when he calls for them. When he whistles, Mercedes sighs in her sleep.

Well. That’s how it’s going to be, then. No one will talk about or think to be grateful to him or even NOTICE him. This is the worst Masquerade of all time and it is exactly what every single one of them deserve.

He moves through the ballroom and sees Asra, all dressed up. Lucio does not even try to upend a table filled with cakes and breads. He sighs and then sighs again when his first sigh sways not a single garland.

The big one is there, he sees! How can he not? Mort– Martin? Lucio doesn’t remember. Used to do well in the fighting pit. Hasn’t really dressed up for the occasion, which is a pity. A party is a party! And whatshisname can enjoy it much better than Lucio can, at least.

Is it _Marcus…?_ This is _depressing_ him. Lucio leaves the ballroom. On the way, he tries to trip people or pull bits of their costumes– they call these costumes?! Standards have truly fallen– but his heart isn’t in it. He makes his way to one of the grand fountains in the garden. If they’re all going to be so faithless, he won’t _let_ them enjoy his company. HA.

He mopes, but he has the fountain to himself, and if no one sees than he is certain it doesn’t count. Even by misery’s clock, it is hardly any time at all before Mercedes and Melchior bound out to him, happily yowling behind something in their mouths. They delicately set pomegranate halves on the ledge of the fountain, then nudge the fruit toward him. Unfortunately, the pieces go right through his legs and roll into the basin. There’s a quiet splash and the dogs’ eyes flick to his: _good_

Lucio sighs, because it’s really just been a dreadful excuse for a party and an evening, the whole thing. But he loves that the dogs, at least, _tried_. He tells them how good and smart they are, and they romp around and nudge at the air closest to his legs. They are always careful not to push through him. Much better manners than all the rabble in his house!

When Lucio glances behind him, there are swirls of inky red in the water from the pomegranate juice, delicate but spreading out and tinting the entire pool. He realizes it will be hell for the groundskeepers to deal with in the morning.

And that seems fitting.

“Go get more pomegranates,” he tells Mercedes and Melchior. They are, as ever, thrilled to be his co-conspirators, and they run off in the direction of the kitchens. He watches the white of their fur fade to blue in the night. Lucio cannot see his own smile, but he likes to imagine it is the reverse, lips revealing bright white teeth that shine in the darkness as he waits for his chance to enjoy the party at last.


End file.
